Accidentally in Love
by The Red Celt
Summary: Fill for the kinkmeme: Mordin turns Shepard down, claiming he's not interested, when in fact its just the opposite. Shepard doesn't want anybody else, she wants Mordin, and when she asks a second time he doesn't refuse her. M for adult content.


"Professor Solus," EDI intoned, "the Commander has requested a dose of pain medication."

"Migraines again?" he asked, already gathering the necessary supplies.

"It would seem so."

"Be there as soon as I can."

During one of their initial talks after he joined the Normandy crew, Shepard had admitted that she had been prone to crippling migraines ever since she was five years old. They were always terrible and came with tunnel vision, extreme sensitivity to light and sound, nausea, vertigo, and excruciating pain. Doctor Chakwas had a temporary remedy, a shot that would alleviate the symptoms until Shepard could get some sleep (the only certain cure for a migraine), but she had asked Mordin if he might be able to find another solution if he had a spare moment. He'd agreed, and within a week had synthesized a new compound that he thought would work. It was just a matter of time until another one struck and they could see how effective it was.

The lights were off when he entered her quarters, the stars in the window the only illumination. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness before making his way down the steps to the bed. Shepard was lying curled up on her side under the blanket with a wet washcloth pressed to her forehead. She looked like she was asleep, but Mordin knew better; she'd gotten good at slowing her vitals, which took some of the edge off the searing pain in her head.

"Hey," she muttered, half-muffled by the pillow.

"Bad one?" he asked, keeping his voice low. She grunted an affirmative and he nodded. "Have medication here, should only take fifteen to twenty minutes to feel effects." He filled a syringe with the translucent pink liquid and took her arm, which she tried to hold up but it jostled her head too much and she whimpered. "No, Shepard. Relax." She went limp and let him position her arm where he needed it. He felt for the vein, then slid the needle in, pushed the plunger down, and drew it out in one smooth motion. "There, done. Will monitor the results." He gathered his supplies and started to leave, but she lifted her head up and looked at him with weary eyes. He knew how much that small movement cost her.

"Mordin, could you . . . stay here? Please?" His heart beat faster even though he knew she wasn't asking him to stay for the reasons he wanted. Part of him was still feeding himself the old excuses (low sex-drive, little interest in humans, etc. etc.), but there was another part of him that wanted to be near her, to touch her and make her happy. It was completely unlike him to feel like this and it was uncomfortable and wonderful and frightening and he didn't know what to do about it. Every time she came into the lab he wanted her to stay, to ask him just one more time to spend some time with her, just the two of them. He'd turned her down before, but now that he'd had some time to think about it (and he'd thought about it a lot, especially when sleep was a long time coming) he knew his answer would be different.

She was still waiting for his answer, though, so he nodded and her head settled back on the pillow. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her, unsure what to do with himself; he'd never been alone with her in her quarters before. She reached out for his hand and he pulled off his gloves before twining his bare hand in hers. Something about that small gesture made his pulse race even faster.

"Shepard . . . sure you remember what we talked about," he said softly, glad for the excuse to keep his voice low; the slight waver was hardly noticeable.

"Yeah, I remember," she said, and her voice sounded strange; was that sadness? "I'm not trying to hit on you, Mordin—I'm really not in any state to do that—it just calms me down to have you here."

"My presence helps your migraines?" he asked, incredulous. She nodded, her hair rasping against the pillow and making the washcloth slip. Mordin pressed it back against her forehead and lingered there for a moment. Her skin was damp and warm and he wanted . . . he wasn't sure what this feeling was, just that he wanted more of it.

"Yeah. Even though you always seem to be in a hurry, something about you . . . I don't know how to describe it," she said with a sigh. "It's like you bring me back to center. Wow, that sounds really cheesy out loud. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry," he whispered. She had hit upon his own feelings in just a few simple words; yes, she centered him. He wondered when she had begun to have that effect on him; probably the moment he came aboard the ship. She didn't realize it, but she was like gravity—pulling people to her, making them do things they normally wouldn't consider, bringing out their better selves.

"Hey, Mordin? I think it's working." She raised her head experimentally and smiled, the dark circles under her eyes already looking less prominent. "The tunnel vision is gone, and it doesn't hurt as much." She started to sit up, but he put a hand on her upper chest and pushed her back down.

"Rest now, no need to rush." She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. The unbound mass of red hair spread over the pillow called to him; he reached out and ran his fingers through it, gently working out the knots. She sighed and tilted her head toward his touch. "This doesn't hurt?"

"No, it feels nice." She opened her eyes and looked at him, his soft gaze illuminated by the stars overhead. Her breath hitched a little as she recognized that look; it was one she'd seen on her own face in the mirror when her mind wandered and she found herself thinking of him. "You don't have to if you don't want to, you know. I mean . . . I understand that you—"

Mordin shook his head and slowly leaned down to brush his cheek against hers. "Want to do this, Shepard." And oh, how he wanted to, so badly it almost hurt.

She stroked his jaw, her heart racing. The migraine that had been plaguing her since mid-afternoon was almost gone now, and the pain had lessened enough that she could ignore it and focus on the texture of his skin, the heat of his breath in her ear. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her, savoring the way her lips gave under the slightest pressure, the taste of her mouth, and the quiet moan that escaped her when his fingers tightened in her hair.

She broke the kiss with a gasp and cupped his jaw, looking into his eyes for any of the misgivings he'd expressed before . . . and finding none. He slid under the blanket and settled on the bed next to her and she shifted onto her side to face him. She was suddenly nervous, and didn't know how to proceed. He had said before that salarians had low sex-drives and while that didn't mean 'non-existent,' she didn't know what he would be okay with.

He watched the emotions fly across her face, and thought he had some idea what her hang-up was. He started taking off his suit, peeling it off his arms and down to his hips, revealing reddish-brown skin patterned with lighter stripes that flowed up from his waist to the middle of his chest. "If you want to touch . . ." He took her wrist and guided her hand to the spot where his chest dipped inward, and she stroked it lightly with the tips of her fingers. The rush of warmth that tingled in the wake of her touch surprised him and he closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation.

Shepard took off her own shirt and tossed it into the corner, and Mordin ran a finger from her throat across the swell of her breast, and the sounds she made when he cupped it and rubbed the dark nub with his thumb sent shivers down his spine. Shepard kissed him again, harder this time, and he pulled her knee up over his hip. She was only wearing a pair of cotton panties under the covers he discovered as he grazed up over her hip and down to her inner thigh. Her breath hitched and her leg wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

He stroked her through the thin cloth and she moaned; she was already so wet just from getting to see this side of him after all this time spent wanting him, like finding out a secret no one else knew. He was always so cool and professional in the lab, but she was finally finding out just how hot he could be and it was turning her on to no end.

She worked one leg out of her panties and he spread her folds, those slender fingers caressing her body with such skill and attention to detail, and she felt the familiar pressure build up faster than it ever had before. He kissed her neck and moaned softly against her when her hands found his waist and massaged the sensitive skin there. He rubbed her clit and she bucked her hips against him, calling his name.

"Oh god, Mordin, I'm so close . . . please . . ." He pushed his fingers into her, plunging into the tight, wet heat and curling his fingers up into the bundle of nerves there and stroking it hard. The feel of her nails digging into him, her walls contracting around his fingers, her breathless moans, all of it was so much better than any daydream. His lips trembled against her neck and he made a fist in her hair, holding her close as she came undone. She gritted her teeth and cried out her pleasure into his shoulder, her fingers clutching at his back as the orgasm crashed through her body and he coaxed wave after wave with every twitch of his fingers inside her.

Afterward, spent and breathless, she went to put her hand between his legs to reciprocate, but he stopped her. "No, Shepard. Tonight . . . this is all I need."

She was somewhat disappointed, but the afterglow that suffused her entire being was so blissful that she wanted to bask in it forever. "So," she murmured, "you're implying there will be other nights?"

He kissed her forehead and replied, "Hope so. If that's what you want."

"Maybe I should get migraines more often," she said, and he chuckled into her hair. "Will you stay here tonight?"

"Absolutely. Told you before, Shepard—will be here if you need me." He kissed her slowly, tenderly, trying to convey all the words he couldn't bring himself to say just yet. "Meant it."

She slept deeply that night, cocooned in blankets and the warmth of his limbs entwined with hers and for the first time in a long time, there were no dreams.


End file.
